Novel Writing for Dummies

My novel sucks so far.

Well, first of all, that’s okay, because it’s supposed to suck. You’re just supposed to put down words as fast as you can. This is about quantity, not quality. Quality can come later. If ever. No, don’t even think about quality, because that will inhibit your quantity. And again, it’s all about quantity.

Not Quantico. Quantity.

Okay, the excess verbiage and random thought-spewing is spilling over into my blog. I can’t tell if that’s good or not. I try to use a certain amount of decorum here. I try to write nice, flowing sentences and I usually try to let each entry have a theme, not just random musings about my day. I try to let each entry be about Something Greater; I try to let each entry say Something about the human condition. After all, my god, people are gonna read this thing!

Anyway, did I say novel? If by “novel” I meant something that has no plot, rhyme, reason, or shred of imagination, then that’s what I meant. I’ve never written a novel before. And so, as this is my first novel, it’s turning out to be… come on, say it with me… autobiographical. All first novels are autobiographical, unless you’re one of those people who has a “stunning first novel” or a “stellar first novel reminiscent of Camus, Naipul and Updike all rolled into one.” (Blech. Mayonnaise and chili and peanut butter, anyone? Great tastes taste great together.)

I’m no good at plot. I’m not even any good at characters, apparently. What I’m good at is intellectualness. Writing about thoughts and concepts and such. Perhaps I’d make a good New Yorker essayist. Well, no, because they actually write about things. My thoughts are all over the place. I’m very internal-oriented, thoughts-and-feelings-oriented, not events-oriented. So not much has happened in my novel so far, except for the main character (a.k.a. me) basically recounting bits of his life through random memories. And I’m trying to type it at light speed without really seeing if anything makes sense. Or even has a common thread. My gosh.

Well, when you knit a sweater, it doesn’t look like a sweater at first. It looks like a glob of yarn. And when I’m finished, this is gonna be a damn butt-ugly sweater. Not even Quasimodo’s gonna wear it.

Anyway: 1,787 words down (the year of the Constitutional Convention!), and let’s see, that makes, uh… 48,213 words to go. Not sure what’s going to happen in the year 48,213, but I’m sure H.G. Wells will be involved somehow. Or H.R. Puffinstuf. But I don’t really know who that is. I’m too young for that. I never liked the Kroft Superstar people anyway. I was all about the Superfriends.

Wonder Twin Powers, activate! Shape of, a walrus! Form of, a bucket of ice water! Come on, Jayna! Grab the bucket with your walrus tusks!

Gleek gleek gleek gleek GLEEK gleek gleek!

Shape of, a novel! Form of, a piece of chaos!

A beautiful, ugly piece of chaos.